


Always a Purpose

by occultette



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternative Perspective, Asgard, Creative License, F/M, Gen, Midgard, sorcery, tags to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 16:55:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1234048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/occultette/pseuds/occultette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one is an island - and certainly not in executing a conquest.</p><p>Life in The Realm Eternal don't differ much from other places, at least for the smaller people. Idun, a sorceress-in-training, dream big but indecisively, not knowing what to do with the coming thousands of years or even the next season. But fate or other undeniable forces apparently save her with new pursuits and purpose, leading her off where none expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always a Purpose

**Author's Note:**

> The story starts off pre-Thor (2011).
> 
> This is my first posted work, finally! Please do help with thoughts, suggestions, and any mistakes that should have been caught in proof-reading. English is not my first language so corrections are welcome.
> 
> Disclaimer:  
> This work of fanfiction revolves around characters and the universe of the Marvel movies and other media, to which I claim no ownership or rights. The following creation is intended as entertainment, for both author and readers, and no financial gain will be sought after or made by anybody from this work.

I spin around to take in the scenery, attempting to imprint the sights and sense of serenity. The soft light gleaming through the branches, bathing the orchard in gold. The hills behind me that rise up to protect the valley from the sea and its winds. The grass that pad my footsteps and the leaves that tickle my hair. The scent of sun and earth and sweet fruits cling around me. Now, when I'm alone, it fills me with a calming nostalgia and a feeling of belonging. If this were all there were in the worlds it would be enough. But it's not. There are chores and people and vocations; wants and expectations and restrictions. When the fields were filled with busy people earlier in the day their sweat and seemingly mindless routine pushed me away and made me long for tomorrow.

   I whisk the barren branches in my hand to untangle them from my dress, one of my more formal attires for tonight's dinner. As the incline up to the villa begin the plush undergrowth give way for the dry road that leaves dust on my hem and make dirt creep into my sandals. My soppy mood turn this usual annoyance into something primeval to be cherished, another thing to lovingly recall when cruising around the gutters of the great city. Indistinct chatter reach my ears by the polished stone steps to our backyard veranda and my humor falls. I take a short moment to brace myself for the ultimate test of one's character - a family gathering.

 

There's the traditional feast set up in the dining room; fresh fruits and greens, sizzling roasts, fragrant soups, soft bread, and demijohns of sweet and robust wines, all served at once. My immediate family, mother, father, sisters, brothers, as well as aunts, uncles, cousins and maternal grandmother are in the process of taking their informal, but established, seats. A chair is politely held for me between my father and younger sister.

   It all proceeds with the usual clamor, business talk and easy banter that doesn't include me. They all do this regularly and in being away for most of the year I have lost my place. My father is of the same composition as me: reserved and usually respected, he because of his natural authority and me for my shifting foul moods. The sister on my other side however has turned into a shrieking _thing,_ to the delight of my brothers. My mother is all the same as ever and still finds it her mission to remind the daughters to eat plenty and the sons to eat with manners, including our cousins. When we collectively reach dessert, an assortment of pies, she turns her caring attention to me.

“Idun, have you packed yet?”

“Yes.”

“Everything? Your winter clothes too?”

“Almost everything. And most of my winter things are there already.”

“Of course.” she says with a breezy swish of her hand but a wrinkle firmly placed on her forehead. She wants to dote and worry, but don't have time for it with all her other children and obligations. So in my younger years I made it clear that I won't take to much of it, leaving the conversation in the present day at that.

   My given name is passed down my family from my great grandmother Idunn, praised for her gardens and its fruits that became sought after luxuries in the upper class. She herself was also known in her heyday, fair haired and demure, a daughter of the earth and the depiction of Spring. We are now four Iduns in the family tree below her, and it's a shame that I (my mothers eldest daughter) take my coloring after my father with matching brown hair and eyes, and that all my house plants die tragically. But I did inherit the knack for magics that made our produce famed and our family wealthy and still ease the farm work. Thankfully I could use this inclination as a mean to leave home for the city. I think my parents allowed this to sort of tide me over some phase of not wanting to trim branches or oversee shipments, hoping I would soon return with homesickness and a good eye for some merchant or landowner. By now they have put their hopes on ice and I become more desperate, because if I want to keep studying I need to pick a career, and if not, find some other reason to stay away.

   This worry sneaks up on me when I go to bed, stuffed with foods and thoughts swirling with wine. The starry sky gleaming through the tall window gives a twinge in my stomach, making me feel infinitely small but also reminding me that there's endlessly many things out there. The hour is late before I definitively fall asleep.

 

The following midday I'm on the ferryboat heading into the city. It is a light and mild day and I should arrive right before the dark settles. The boat is long, wide and slow. The deck is filled with rows of benches and luggage and some all too familiar crates. I'm glad it moves gently through the water and walking feels almost like on sturdy land. I take a seat in the middle and push my bags underneath the bench. I spend the hours alternating between taking in the landscape, staring into nothing, and reading. After passing the mountains and hills the settlements along the waterway increase in numbers. Turning towards the heart of the city the ferry criss-cross in between rising buildings and under innumerable bridges. The closer we get to the city center the more you can see of the Great Hall and royal palace glinting in the distance. Less notable but closer at hand I also spy the domes and spires of the academy, the seat of learning that I attend.

   As we dock in one of the smaller ports I turn my back to both metal buildings and head downward to my neighborhood, crossing more bridges and green park islands. In the market I get a packet of meat and bread for supper and turn onto my street, it being quiet as usual. It doesn't look like much but it's within a respectable distance from the important heart of the city and being built as a terrace it gives a nice view of the lower streets and canals. With a grateful huff I throw off my bags in the hallway, take the few steps down into the living area and open all the shutters to the aforementioned lookout, then doing the same in my sleeping alcove barely hidden behind a large see-through patterned screen wall. Eating and drinking tea in the chaise lounge by the fireplace after a long bath always make the first night home alone the best one.

 

 

The next morning I have to get an early start no matter how reluctant I am, having an appointment to keep with my tutor at the academy. Outside the people are already bustling around when I take my usual path up the streets. The entrance to the huge building is all metal and polished stone, pillars and statues. The floor has a flawless high shine that give the look like its always just been scrubbed clean and is slippery wet which makes me tread more carefully. Perhaps the high ceilings, golden light and general grandeur also affect me to act respectfully. Soon I arrive at my tutor's room. Gudrun welcomes be back and we talk briefly about my recent accomplishments and some upcoming events.

   After our meeting she directs me to a lecture. It's held in one of the smaller lecture hall with three semi-circle rows of smooth tables with a few pupils already in their seats. One wall is all glass and gives the view of the neighboring buildings, the streets below and the waters in the distant. I sit down at the middle desk, to the side, as always. As I arrange my papers more acquainted people arrive and take their places. Berhtoald, apparently today's lecturer, walks in and head for the open space in front of us. He has thinning gray hair, is considered an authority on most any of the subjects we're taking, and rarely make any sense to us novices. In previous classes everything he has said was interesting and sounded brilliant, but to convert in into practice seems very intangible. At his side is a younger man with a straight back and hands clasped behind him. Smooth black hair is all I see of his features. A student squeezes behind me and sits down next to me with a hurried look in her eye.

“Welcome back!” Sunniva says in a whisper that's barely any lower than her regular voice and toss her wild golden locks to one side.

“Thanks, you're just in time.” Berhtoald and the accompanying man takes a seat on a bench beside the speakers circle.

“That's prince Loki!” Again the undisguised whisper. A murmur has spread through the room and Sunniva whirls around in her seat to speak with those sitting behind us. I feel my eyes roll without intending to. At least it's more discreet than most reactions. I sweep a glance over the room. People who never takes notes are scrambling for paper and borrowing pens. Berhtoald seems pleased with the impact. The Prince looks like he hasn't noticed anything, chatting along with the teacher. Soon enough the lecturer takes the stage and the surrounding activities die out. Sunniva returns to me and lines up her different colored pencils.

“Welcome to another season.” His voice is always low, because he knows everybody is already listening. “Today is your first steps toward your higher individual level of understanding. We will talk about the word, the name, the thought, and the power there in; and about the forces around us, ever present and never waning.” My head is already beginning to spin - _what sort of title can I put on my notes for this?_ I settle for today's date.

“With me to guide you today is His Highness, prince Loki.” Berhtoald gestures to the one mentioned and all heads turn. Loki however keeps his attention on the speaker while leaning back, a foot resting on his knee and hands folded. Berhtoald seems finished with the introductions and launches into the history and uses of runes, how the word should represent all essential intention and, without a clear connection, about the energies, forces and masses existing in space and time. I copy the runes in the example neatly in the center of my paper and scrawl words around them, adding _The thing in between things_ lastly. The room has become warm and all of our minds fuzzy as time wears on, but when the Prince take the place on the floor our backs straighten and some lean forward expectantly. He surveys the class before continuing on some of Berhtoald 's points.

“This is not like picking up a sword and watching it swing in your hand, believing what you see. You need to reach into the unseen and trust your other senses.” He talks with a steady voice and his hands, holding the immaterial concepts in the air and twisting them. “But of course it is very handy to send a sword through the air using kinetics.” Polite laughter arises, I smile.

Though interesting, prince Loki's speech is mercifully shorter than Berhtoald's. They exchange places again and the latter begin his obligatory discussion of today's topics. The well-read pupils ask questions that I don't understand, and the ones who obviously barely listened only get questions as an answer, while I'm very aware of my pulse and avoid all eye-contact feeling that old anxiety over what's to come.

“And what about manipulation of the physical? How can we affect our surroundings?” He looks and points a hand directly at me, kindly but demanding.

“Uh.” I look down at my notes. “Well. It's.. the thing in between things. If one can't influence the physical thing itself, one can.. attempt to change the things and space around it.” Berhtoald nods.

“And what is that thing?”

“I'm not sure yet.” I say adding an apologetic smile. I do have strong inklings, but being wrong is worse than being short-spoken.

“Precisely. But you will know.” he addresses the whole class.

 

“That was fun!” Sunniva exclaim later as we walk down the corridor. I make a non-committal noise and in my head revise my answer at the end of the lessons for the fifth time.

“Do you think the Prince will be a regular teacher here? We could use some new ones, new ideas and methods.”

“No, I'm sure the royalty are busy with other things.”

“Like what? Representing Asgard all day long?” She sounds skeptic.

“Yes. That's what he was doing in the classroom. And having fabulous dinners.”

“After all those exhausting dress-fittings. And some diplomacy and lawmaking if there's time for it.” We both giggle and let the topic die out. There's always some debate what we need a king for, when there's no crisis or war but the high towers still rise and gleam above us. Those rebellious arguments almost always fall short in thinking that the peace and the prosperity, if somewhat plateaued, will just simply remain without being kept by some ruler.

“Aren't you going to be a healer?” I ask as we reach the green courtyard connecting two wings and leading down to the canal.

“Yes, I'm beginning pretty soon.”

“Then you'll get some new tutors.” I offer.

“That's true, but most of them seem to be gray-haired and ancient. But I'm sure it will be interesting. “ That is Sunniva in my eyes, a critical mind buried beneath so much niceness and optimism. We part in the middle of the garden, she heading down the winding walkway with bouncing steps and I continuing to scrying practice. The teacher informs us that today we are finding people, other tutors and staff who's position she has confirmed. I find persons to be more difficult than things, their composition more fluctuating and being more inclined to move around. We are given maps of the area and take out our pendants - any trinket we choose dangling on a chain or cord. Some second-guessing and an hour later I have located a respectable three out of five before we are dismissed with the usual exhortation to practice. Returning home at the end of the day, famished, I forgot the books Gudrun had recommended and reluctantly drag myself back to the school as dusk rolls in.

   The library is still open and the custodian warmly greets me by the door, but something about the dim lighting makes me tip-toe through the aisles. Soon I find the right shelf in the back, the same I've poured over most of the last season. My back stiffens as I notice someone standing at the long table by the window close by, a bit startled since I thought I was the only one in the whole place. I glue my eyes to the titles in embarrassment and want to find my book as quickly as possible. A familiar word jump out at me and I pull out one of the volumes I've been looking for. With half the job done I chance a glance at the person. He is tall and wear more strict and expensive clothing than the regular visitor. One of the rare silver scrolls is laid out at the table and the length of it disappears form my view behind the shelf. The stamped lettering glows faintly above his finger as he trace the text, and then turn dark again. My brows furrow before I realize the realization; it's the Prince. Of course. Turning quickly back to the shelf I sigh at myself. If I seem ignorant of the presence of a well known royalty the encounter will be much less unpleasant, right? I don't know anything about proper etiquette and find it awkward enough when I run into my regular tutors or fellow pupils when not expected. I think I've forgotten what book I need.

“Yes?”

I look back at him, still reading, and keenly feel my flush and heartbeat.

“Nothing - I'm sorry.” Eyes back to the books. Yes, that was very good manners indeed. I see him shift in my peripheral vision, and I pull out a book, not the one I need but a similar one.

“Have you found any of the things in between things?” The words are exactly what I didn't expect.

“Uhm, I'm trying to.” I give a quick smile and busy myself with arranging the books and papers in my hands. A few seconds pass.

“Well, good luck. It is an apt description of the principle.” He smirks and lines form around his eyes.

“Thank you.” I give a small bow of my head and knees before I turn and head home with hasty steps. Supposedly looking like a fool in front of people you will never meet again won't matter as much, but the exchange still it nags at me well into the evening.

 

 

After the following day of rest my tutor calls me to a meeting. I suppose it is to inform me of some upcoming test, so I am unprepared for what follows when I arrive to her room at the academy. Gudrun sits at her desk with the view of a small flourishing courtyard framing her soft profile, smiling and bidding me to take a seat.

“How long have I been your tutor here, Idun?”

“Eight years, all of my schooling.”

“Yes. Do you know where you want to go in your education?” _No_. But I don't want to say that. “By now most of your peers have begun with their specialized studies.” I nod. A sickening worry starts to grow in me. Do I have to make a decision I don't want to make, right now? Or will she simply throw her hands up and declare me a lost cause and shove me towards the ferry?

“I have only ever seen you take to subjects with ease. But this un-focus will surely be damaging to your talents.” I nod again, so I don't have to speak with my dried out mouth. She folds her hands and smile warmly. “There's a great opportunity given to you. Instead of drilling you to become something specific, you would get to practice disciplines in a more holistic fashion, according to the requirements of yourself and your new tutor.”

“New tutor?”

“An exceptional and knowledgeable professional. Prince Loki has attended classes and inquired about you.” I have understood nothing she just said.

“Why? What for, to work in the guard?”

“Perhaps, or for you to go on and be a scholar. You will have to ask him.” Gudrun looks at me encouragingly. “I'm sure it's not an unbreakable contract for life.” I nod once again. She suddenly stands up and heads for the door so I rise to follow. But instead of leaving she opens the door wide for another visitor. The Prince steps in, his shape of dark armor seemingly filling the frame. Gudrun greets him and curtsy so I awkwardly do the same. As she returns to her seat, he looks me over before giving a wide, disarming smile that clash radically with his appearance made of metal and leather.

“Idun. I am Loki, and I am glad to meet you.” He reach out a steady hand and we shake.

“Likewise. An honor, my lord.” I add quickly, words I have never before taken in my mouth. As we all sit down I wonder what the other pupils are doing right now. Copying runes, clipping leaves, examining auras, trying not to land on their ass in some obstacle course. Loki looks to Gudrun to explain the situation.

“She has reluctantly agreed to think it over?” she offers and raise her eyebrows at me.

“That does not sound promising.”

“No! I mean, of course I want to do this. I appreciate the opportunity very much.” comes blurting out.

“Excellent.” His disappointment has changed to satisfaction. “I want you to do the following;” he list the demands and articulate them with his hands, “continue attending the common lectures, begin the first course of combat training, and read up on artifacts.” I nod, annoyed that it's been such a frequent gesture today. “Does that sound reasonable?” The resolved look he gives lets me know the question is all but rhetorical.

“Yes.” He nods and clap his hands.

“Gudrun, draw up a schedule, please.”

“Of course Your Highness.” As he stands we all do. Thanks are exchanged and we curtsy again as he sweep out the door.

“Exciting!” Her graying fringe has fallen slightly into her sparkling eyes. I give a faint smile, overwhelmed. Checking her lists, we set up a timetable starting with the combat class the next morning and the first private tutoring in two days.

“Any other wonderings?”

“Yes.. How should I address him?” She gives me a brief instruction in etiquette. I walk home with the strangest sensation of my head soaring and a boulder amassing in the pit of my stomach.

 


End file.
